


You Go To My Head

by theofficialsherlockholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, Asexuality, Bisexual John, Bisexuality, F/F, Female John Watson, Female Sherlock Holmes, Femlock, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 18:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2398343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theofficialsherlockholmes/pseuds/theofficialsherlockholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically just Joan thinking about how much she cares for Sherlock and Sherlock doing things with her own dramatic flare, as usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Go To My Head

**Author's Note:**

> Femlock fic I ended up having to repost because it wasn't showing up for some reason!  
> Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes was insufferable and Joan knew that. Joan definitely knew that. She’d been living with the woman for three years and Sherlock really hadn’t changed whatsoever. She still wandered around the flat dressed in only a sheet; she still wore at least two nicotine patches at all times and some days she wore three; she still deduced everyone to tears within seconds. None of that had ever wavered or changed.

What had changed, however, was Joan. The change wasn’t one Sherlock had picked up on, yet, but that was something for Joan to be grateful for. Quite frankly, she didn’t know when it had happened, but somewhere between the pool incident and catching Moriarty, Joan had fallen hopelessly and terribly in love with her flat mate. Her female flat mate.

The thought was mildly terrifying to Joan, but it was clear that her feelings were and always would be unrequited. Joan had given Sherlock all of her; she’d given her heart and her hands and her mind and every single last piece of her and she trusted Sherlock to take care of all of the little pieces of Joan. She had all of Sherlock’s broken pieces, as well. She knew about the nightmares the woman had and the way she took her tea and the way that she’d stopped playing violin at odd hours and now only did it to soothe Joan after one of her own nightmares. 

They fit together just like they were supposed to and that was what worked for them. They existed peacefully in cohabitation and Joan was grateful for Sherlock in her life. Really, she was, but this whole “oops, I’m in love with a woman who would never want anything with me,” business was terribly inconvenient. Joan now found it near impossible to focus on anything when Sherlock spoke and walked and played violin and did everything in life so bloody effortlessly that it took Joan’s breath away.

Now, she knew Sherlock wasn’t perfect and that her overwhelming confidence and overall arrogance was no more than an act, a way to keep herself invulnerable and intimidating to everyone who didn’t know her like Joan did. They didn’t talk about it at all, but Joan knew that Sherlock often cried at night after particularly bad dreams. She also knew that some days she was so exhausted by her own mind that moving from the sofa was physically too much. On those days, Joan made extra tea, kept more quiet than usual, and made sure to keep an extra close watch on her best friend.

Today was a “my head is so loud that I don’t want to move,” day and that was okay. It was cold and snowing outside and Joan was grateful that they weren’t out corralling criminals in such awful weather. Instead, Sherlock was lying, still and silent, on the sofa while Joan caught up on a novel. These days were few and far between and Joan loved them more than she ever would tell the other woman. After a few hours of quiet, Sherlock sighed and blinked her eyes open, lolling her head to the side to look at Joan. Glancing up from her book, Joan smiled at Sherlock.

“Finally quieted down in there, has it?” she asked fondly.

Sherlock just hummed in response and kept watching Joan. The woman knew that was the only response she would get from Sherlock, so she shrugged mentally and went back to her book. Sherlock sometimes stared at her without explanation and Joan had simply gotten used to it by now. Joan read for another half hour, overly aware of Sherlock’s gaze on her before the dark haired woman actually spoke.

“This is where you belong.”

Just those five simple words fell from Sherlock’s lips and Joan looked over at her as she closed her book and nodded.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, not quite sure where Sherlock was going with this conversation.

“You anchor me. Everything is quieter in my head whenever you’re around.”

Joan just stared silently because that was by far the nicest thing Sherlock had ever said to her over the years that they had known each other. “Sherlock…” she started hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sherlock said, going back to watching the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing that she had seen in her whole life.

Joan just nodded again to herself and stood slowly, making her way towards Sherlock and placing a gentle hand on her forehead. “You’re not ill,” she said aloud.

“Of course I’m not ill. Why would I be ill?” Sherlock asked, wishing she was so that the warmth coursing through her had a source, a thing for Sherlock to blame it on.

“Well, you... I don’t think you’ve ever said anything that nice to me,” Joan said, kneeling beside Sherlock.

Sherlock’s eyebrows knitted together and she stared just past the other woman. “It’s the truth. I thought it would be good to tell you. Was I wrong? Was it a bit Not Good?” Sherlock asked.

Joan laughed and shook her head, pressing a loving kiss to Sherlock’s head before she’d really stopped to think about it. She froze just inches from Sherlock’s face, her eyes wide. Sherlock’s face was calculating, but otherwise unreadable. Joan was frozen, internally panicking so much that she just couldn’t move if her life depended on it. She blinked, unable to keep her eyes from trying to read what Sherlock was feeling and thinking. Sherlock was just staring back and it could have been minutes or hours that they’d been frozen this way, Joan really didn’t know at this point. After Joan had decided Sherlock wasn’t going to respond whatsoever, she did her best to back away as if nothing had happened.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, beginning to stand up before Sherlock’s long fingers caught and held her wrist too tightly.

“Don’t,” Sherlock said, yanking Joan down on top of her in the least graceful way imaginable. Joan landed with an “umph!” and immediately looked up at Sherlock in confusion. Sometimes it was simply better not to ask, though, so she just sighed in resignation and rested her head on Sherlock’s chest, right below her collar bone. She didn’t want to get used to the way it felt to be this close to Sherlock because it really wasn’t likely to last. The two of them laid like that for about an hour until Joan had to get up to use the loo. When she returned, Sherlock wasn’t on the sofa and her bedroom door was closed. Well, that was that, then. With a sigh, Joan grabbed her coat and left the flat, dialing Meg Lestrade as she went.

 

After two hours, three pints, and four long suffering sighs, Meg decided it was high time that Joan went home and sorted this entire thing out with Sherlock. Meg called them a cab and Joan followed willingly, not drunk but pleasantly warm and tipsy. She couldn’t have this conversation if she was completely sober. She didn’t think this would go well, but Meg was right; the way they were currently living did neither of them any good. Meg knew Sherlock first, therefore she knew how different Sherlock had become when she’d met Joan. She was kinder, softer, slightly more aware of how other people might feel than she had ever been before Joan moved in.

When the cab stopped outside of Baker Street, Meg clapped a hand on Joan’s shoulder, wished her luck, and shoved the hesitant woman out of the cab. Joan’s footsteps were loud and heavy on the stairs, leaving no possibility that Sherlock might be unaware that she had returned home. She opened the door to find the flat looking like a hurricane had ripped through it and Joan immediately sobered up, going into Sherlock May Be Hurt and Need Help mode. Joan checked the majority of the flat, panicking when Sherlock wasn’t to be found on the first floor. She raced up the stairs to her room to find Sherlock in her bed, asleep and clinging to one of Joan’s pillows. It was a relief to find her unharmed, but the presence of tear tracks on Sherlock’s cheeks sent a wave of guilt rolling through Joan. Cautiously, she approached the bed, pushing Sherlock’s tangled curls away from her face and subsequently waking the woman as she did so.

“Joan?” Sherlock whispered, reaching out as if she needed to check that Joan was really there.

Joan’s heart broke as she cupped Sherlock’s cheek. “I’m here.”

“I thought I had scared you off. I thought you were never coming back. I panicked,” she whispered. 

That explained the state of the sitting room, then. Sherlock had probably torn through there looking for cigarettes. “Sherlock, no,” Joan whispered back. “I… I thought I had upset you. I went to the loo and you were gone when I came back. I’m sorry. I took that to mean you were upset and didn’t want to do that anymore.”

“No,” Sherlock said, shaking her head. “No, I liked the cuddling. I’ve… no one has ever held me before. I liked when you kissed my forehead, also,” she confessed.

Joan sagged with relief and slipped off her shoes and coat before sliding into bed beside Sherlock. “I liked it all, too,” Joan whispered, running her fingers through Sherlock’s hair and smiled.

“But you’re not gay,” Sherlock said, puzzled. “Are you… I’ve heard the term “straight with an exception.” Are you that?”

“No,” Joan said with a shake of his head. “That’s bullshit, really. I’m bisexual, usually leaning a little more towards men. It takes really extraordinary women for me to be interested. I mean, it’s easy to be attracted to someone, but it really takes a lot for me to actually be interested.”

Sherlock blushed slightly and smiled up at Joan with so much love that it took Joan’s breath away. “It’s always been you for me, Joan Watson. I’ve really always known I was a lesbian, but I have never felt the level of care I feel for you with anyone else before.”

Joan smiled and took a breath, gathering her courage before pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock’s lips softly. Sherlock exhaled against Joan’s cheek and kissed back, her lips a bit clumsy due to her nerves. Joan laughed happily and pulled Sherlock up against her. “Sher?” Joan whispered into the woman’s hair.

“Yes, Joan?”

“I love you so much.”

Sherlock went very still for a moment before sitting up to look at Joan, her expression very serious. “I love you, too,” she said with a small, happy smile. “I do have to warn you of something, though,” Sherlock said.

Joan nodded seriously, sitting up across from Sherlock and taking her hands. “Okay. You can tell me anything, love,” Joan promised.

“I’m asexual. If that’s a problem for you, we don’t have to pursue a relationship. I just wanted to let you know.”

Joan shook her head and pulled Sherlock into her lap. “Sherlock, that doesn’t matter to me. There are so many great things to love about you that I don’t need sex to be happy. I’ll never do anything you don’t like or don’t feel comfortable with. If you do feel uncomfortable at any time, please, for the love of god, just tell me. I only want to make you happy and if you don’t want sex, neither do I. I will never push you into anything, no matter what.”

Sherlock smiled and leaned up to kiss Joan’s chin. “Thank you. I’m comfortable with kissing and cuddling, for sure,” she said. “Anything beyond that might be uncomfortable. However, I would very much like to sleep naked beside you, if that would be okay. I would be comfortable with that.”

“Okay, love. I’m comfortable with anything you are. Promise,” Joan swore, smiling down at the other woman. “We’ll just cuddle and kiss and hold hands and we’ll be happy,” she said with a nod to herself. “Okay?”

“Of course,” Sherlock said with a happy smile, lying back down.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Joan said with a grin. “I was promised naked cuddles with the most beautiful woman alive,” she said, trying to keep from laughing.

Sherlock laughed and pulled Joan down. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too. No matter what, Sherlock, I love you. Now, I think we ought to get on with that cuddling,” Joan said as she kissed Sherlock again, feeling more blissfully happy than she could ever remember being before.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!  
> xx,  
> Presley


End file.
